


Mysterious Cute Boy from the Bar

by TheJediAssassinGirl



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Actor!Spot, All based on Newsies Live, F/F, Fluff, I really love Ben Tyler Cook's Race, M/M, Modern AU, Wicked mention, as always, dancer!race
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJediAssassinGirl/pseuds/TheJediAssassinGirl
Summary: After Race gets dumped, Jack and Albert drag him out to a bar. The last thing Race expects is the really cute boy who Jack and Albert make him strike up a conversation with.





	1. Mysterious Cute Boy from the Bar

Race sighed into his drink. He didn’t want to be at the bar, but his friends had dragged him here. He’d just wanted some alone time after his breakup, but Jack and Albert weren’t having it, practically forcing him to come drink with them instead of sulking in his apartment. So here Race was, sulking at a bar table instead. A flicker of movement caught his eye as a boy walked up to the bar. He was short and muscular, with gorgeous tan skin and black hair and an easy smile. He wore a striped red tank top and a pair of dark ripped jeans, and Race could feel his heart begin to, well, race.

“You’s starin’,” a very drunk Jack Kelly slurred into Race’s ear as Race watched the boy finish his first drink. Race jumped.

“Christ, Jack, you coulda given me a heart attack!” he said. Jack grinned.

“You’s starin’,” he repeated. “Undressin’ him with your eyes.”

“Keep your voice down, dumbass!” Race hissed, praying desperately that the boy at the bar couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Why don’t ya go an’ talk ta him?” Jack asked.

“Because I don’t wanna get my heart broken again!” Race snapped. “I ain’t in the mood ta pine over a straight guy.”

“Who’s Race pinin’ over?” Albert slurred, stumbling over to the table.

“No one!” Race said.

“That guy!” Jack said at the same time, pointing.

“He’s straight,” Race said.

“Him? No way!” Albert said. “Dude’s a one-man pride parade!”

“Albert, shut _up_!” Race groaned. “Where’s Finch? He was supposed ta be keepin’ an eye on ya.”

“Bathroom,” Albert replied. “Go talk ta him, Racer.”

“Don’t call me Racer,” Race said.

“We’s gonna keep doin’ it until ya go an’ talk ta him,” Jack threatened. “Racer. Racer. Racer. Racer.”

“Dave, please control your fuckin’ boyfriend,” Race growled at David, who was sitting across the table from him. David pulled Jack into a kiss, effectively shutting him up. Sensing that Albert was about to pick up where Jack left off, Race got up and sat down at the bar next to the mysterious cute boy.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, suddenly feeling very shy. The boy flashed him that perfect, brilliant smile.

“Oh, I suppose,” he said. “I ain’t gonna turn down free alcohol.” Race got the bartender’s attention.

“A manhattan, please, and whatever he’s having,” he said.

“I’ll have a mojito, please,” Cute Boy said.

“One mojito and one manhattan, comin’ right up,” The bartender replied.

“So d’you do this often?” Cute Boy asked.

“What, buy guys drinks?” Race replied.

“Yeah,” cute boy said.

“Not really,” Race admitted. “My friends are just bein’ annoyin. They’s drunk, and they wouldn’t leave me alone ‘til I came an’ talked ta you. They don’t get that this ain’t how I get over a breakup. I’d rather be in my apartment with ice cream an’ Netflix.”

“I assume that since you gotta get over the breakup, the other person initiated it?” Cute Boy said.

“Yeah,” Race replied.

“Well, their loss,” Cute Boy said, taking a sip from his mojito. Race blushed. The two talked for a while, until Race realized he had to pee.

“I gotta go ta the bathroom,” He said reluctantly, holding out his hand to the boy. “If I don’t see ya again, it was nice meetin’ ya.” the boy shook Race’s hand.

“It was nice ta meet you, too,” he replied, grinning at Race. When Race came out of the bathroom, the boy was gone. Where he had been sitting, there was a note scrawled on a paper bar napkin.

 _Thanks for the drink, pretty boy!_ the note read. _Shoot me a text sometime! ;-)_ a phone number was written underneath the note. Race transferred the number into his phone, naming the contact “mysterious cute boy from the bar,” before carefully folding the note and tucking it into his pocket. He went back to the table, where Jack was passed out on David’s lap and Albert was kissing Finch without pause.

“Racer, you’s back!” Albert slurred, looking up as his friend sat back down at the table. “Ya scared ‘im off!”

“Shut up, Al,” Race said. “He probably just had ta go. Gave me his number, though.”

“Oooh!” Albert giggled. “Text ‘im! Text ‘im!”

“Not now, Albert,” Race said. “I’ll do it later. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

 

Over the next couple of days, Race thought of texting Cute Boy, but he couldn’t work up the courage to do so. This changed when he saw the boy again. He was exiting the theater where he was having rehearsals for his ballet troupe’s production of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ to go get lunch, when he saw Cute Boy exiting a different theater. Cute Boy made eye contact with Race, winked, grinned, and disappeared into the crowd of New Yorkers packing the sidewalk. That night, sitting on his couch with _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ playing in the background, Race gathered his courage and texted Cute Boy.

_To: mysterious cute boy from the bar: Was that you I saw today?_

_From: mysterious cute boy: You’ll have to be more specific, cutie. I saw a lot of people today._

_To: mysterious cute boy: I was going to get lunch around noon, and I think I saw you. You winked at me._

_From: mysterious cute boy: Yeah, that was me. Are you an actor too?_

_To: mysterious cute boy: Dancer. I do ballet._

_To: mysterious cute boy: You’re an actor?_

_From: mysterious cute boy: Yeah. I’m Fiyero in Wicked right now._

_To: mysterious cute boy: Ugh, lucky. I love Wicked. I’m Puck in a ballet production of Midsummer._

_From: mysterious cute boy: Oooh, intriguing ;-)_

_To: mysterious cute boy: Hey, I never got your name the other night._

_To: mysterious cute boy: You’re literally in my phone as “mysterious cute boy from the bar”_

_From: mysterious cute boy: lol. The name’s Spot Conlon._

_To: mysterious cute boy: Mine’s Racetrack Higgins._

_To: mysterious cute boy: What kind of a name is “Spot?”_

_From: mysterious cute boy: It’s my name. I know it’s a little bit awkward to scream in bed, but you’ll get used to it._

_From: mysterious cute boy: Besides, with a name like Racetrack, I don’t think you have room to talk._

_To: mysterious cute boy: Touché, Conlon._

_From: mysterious cute boy: So how about a date, pretty boy?_

_To: mysterious cute boy: Would this date involve free tickets to see you in Wicked?_

_From: mysterious cute boy: You’re funny_

_From: mysterious cute boy: Not yet, but maybe if this date goes well._

_From: mysterious cute boy: Does tomorrow at 7 work for you?_

_To: mysterious cute boy: Yeah. Where should I meet you?_

_From: mysterious cute boy: Nederlander. I’ll drive you._

_To: mysterious cute boy: Drive me where?_

_From: mysterious cute boy: You’ll see. ;-)_

_From: mysterious cute boy: I’ll see you at 7, hot stuff. Sleep tight._

Race set his phone down, grinning. Just a couple days ago, he was trying to cope with being dumped, and now he had a date with the cutest actor in New York City.


	2. A date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys asked for it, so here it is!

Race stood outside the Nederlander, checking his watch anxiously. It was 6:30, and Spot was nowhere to be seen. Race had made sure to shower and change after ballet rehearsal, and he now wore a light blue short-sleeved button up, a nice pair of jeans, and a pair of converse. Finally, Spot emerged from the theater, wearing a tank top and ripped jeans, just like he’d been wearing when he and Race met. He grinned when he saw Race.

“Look at you, all handsome,” he said.

“‘Scuse you, I’m handsome all the time,” Race retorted, grinning. Spot laughed.

“Well, ya look even more handsome now,” he said.

“Thanks, gorgeous,” Race replied. “I feel a little overdressed now, though.”

“How dare you?” Spot gasped in mock outrage. “Can’t you see that this is my formal tank top?” It was Race’s turn to laugh now.

“Of course, silly me,” he said. “Am I allowed ta know where you’s takin’ me now?”

“Nope,” Spot said, tapping the tip of Race’s nose lightly. “It’s a surprise. C’mon, I’m parked out back.” Race followed Spot around the back of the theater. Spot unlocked the doors to a somewhat beat up old blue Jeep, and opened the passenger side door for Race, bowing slightly. Race giggled.

“Such a gentleman,” he said, sitting down and buckling his seatbelt.

“Thanks, cutie. I try,” Spot replied, getting into the driver’s side. “Mind if we listen ta showtunes on the way?”

“Not at all,” Race said. They sang along to the playlist Spot put on as they drove into Brooklyn. Spot pulled into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant on the bay. He took Race’s hand as they went in, and Race blushed.

“Spot, _piccolo_!” A woman cried as Spot walked in. She hurried up to the couple and kissed Spot once on each cheek. “You’ve brought a boy! You’re dating again?”

“ _Si,_ Zia Marianna,” Spot replied. “This is Race.”

“How long have you two been together?” The woman asked, shaking Race’s hand.

“This is our first date, zia,” Spot told her.

“Ah, a first date!” The woman said. “I will make sure that your food is extra delicious. _Lui è molto caro_. You need to impress him, _piccolo_.”

“Thank you, zia,” Spot said. “I’m sure the food will be as delicious as always.

“You flatter me, _piccolo_ ,” The woman said, smiling. “Go on! Sit! I will have your bread out shortly.” Spot led Race over to a table for two by the window.

“Is she really your aunt?” Race asked. Spot blushed.

“You understand Italian?” He asked. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?” Race grinned.

“I was too distracted by how cute you were,” he replied.

“Hmm, well, I _am_ very distracting,” Spot admitted.

“Hey, don’t let that go ta your head, now,” Race warned.

“Too late,” Spot said, grinning.

“Are you gonna answer my question?” Race asked. “Is she really your aunt?”

“No, we ain’t related by blood, but we might as well be,” Spot replied. “She was one a my mom’s best friends. I grew up with her around, an’ I always called her zia Marianna.”

“Was?” Race asked. “Did she an’ your mom have a fallin’ out?”

“Nah,” Spot said. “My mom died when I was twelve.”

“Shit, Spot, I’m sorry,” Race said, immediately feeling guilty.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Racer,” Spot said, reaching over to grab Race’s hand, rubbing his thumb over Race’s knuckles. “I brought her up, an’ there was no way you woulda known. It’s okay, I promise.”

“Okay,” Race replied. Zia Marianna came over with a basket of bread, two glasses of lemon soda, and two menus. She poured a pool of olive oil into a dish and ground some pepper into it.

“There you are, _carini_ ,” she said. “Fresh and hot, just how Spot likes it. I will give you two some time to look at the menus, and I will be back to take your orders.”

“Thank you, zia,” Spot said.

“It’s my pleasure, _piccolo_ ,” zia Marianna said, ruffling Spot’s hair as she headed back into the kitchen.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much does getting stuck with the nickname _piccolo_ bother you?” Race teased.

“Eh, I don’t mind it,” Spot replied, grabbing a piece of bread and dipping it into the olive oil and pepper mixture. “But you are _not_ allowed to use it.”

“Oh, you are no fun,” Race whined. Spot grinned.

“Sorry, _corridore_ ,” he said.

“Okay, that ain’t fair!” Race protested. “You can’t give me an Italian nickname if I ain’t allowed ta call ya by yours!” Spot laughed.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “No Italian nicknames. By the way, if ya want any a this bread, ya better grab some now, or else I’m gonna eat the whole basket.” Race took a piece of bread, dipped it in the olive oil, and took a bite.

“Oh _wow_ ,” he said. “That’s _amazing._ ”

“I know, right?” Spot said, grabbing a second piece. “Zia Marianna makes the best bread in Brooklyn.”

“No kidding,” Race said, finishing his first piece of bread and grabbing another. “God, this is so good.” Zia Marianna came back and took their orders. Spot ordered spaghetti carbonara, and Race ordered fettuccine alfredo. The chatted as they ate, then they shared a lava cake for dessert.

“ _Grazie, signora_ ,” Race said as they got up to leave. Zia Marianna gasped.

“ _Piccolo_ , why did you not tell me your boyfriend was Italian?” She scolded.

“I didn’t know until just now, zia Marianna,” Spot replied with a shrug.

“Well now you have to marry him!” Zia Marianna said. “Charming, handsome, _and_ Italian! He’s the whole package!” Spot and Race both laughed.

“I’ll consider it, zia,” Spot said, taking Race’s hand.

“Come and see me soon, _piccolo_ ,” zia Marianna said.

“I’ll try, zia,” Spot promised. He and Race got back in his car, and Race started directing Spot on how to get back to his apartment.

“You ol’ charmer, you,” Spot teased. Race shrugged, grinning.

“Well, you know me,” he said. “Can’t help it.”

“Yeah, well now Zia Marianna’s gonna make me marry you,” Spot said.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Race replied. Spot parked in front of Race’s apartment building and walked him up to his apartment.

“I had fun tonight,” Spot said.

“Me too,” Race replied.

“Can I kiss you?” Spot asked. In answer, Race leaned down and kissed him.

“We’s boyfriends now, right?” He asked as they pulled away.

“If that’s what ya want,” Spot replied.

“God, yes that’s what I want,” Race said.

“Then yeah, we’s boyfriends,” Spot said, grinning. He kissed Race again. “I’ll see you later, Racer. Sleep tight.”

“Sleep tight, _piccolo_ ,” Race replied, grinning mischievously. “I love you.” He disappeared into his apartment before Spot could react. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

_From: Spottie: I love you too, corridore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian Translations:  
> Piccolo: little one  
> Zia Marianna: auntie Marianna  
> Lui è molto caro: he is very cute  
> Carini: darlings  
> Corridore: racer  
> Grazie, signora: thank you, ma’am
> 
> Let me know in the comments if you want a third part!


	3. Milkshakes and Midsummer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft! Boys! Soft! Boys! Soft! Boys!

Spot sat in the plush theater seat, looking around him. He was amazed that Race had been able to get him a ticket to the opening night of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. The place was _packed_. He sent a quick text to Race.

 _To: Corridore: break a leg, cutie! I love you!_ He turned off his phone and opened the program in his lap. There it was, in black and white: “Puck/Robin Goodfellow- Racetrack Higgins.” Spot chuckled, imagining his boyfriend arguing with some poor producer until they agreed to put his name as “Racetrack.”

Spot was excited, and not just because he got to see Race perform. He loved Shakespeare, and he was particularly fond of _Midsummer_ , as it was the first Shakespeare play he’d ever read. The lights dimmed, and the ballet started. Spot watched, smiling, as the story he’d read and seen a thousand times played out in front of him in a way he’d never even thought of before. Then Race came onstage, and everything else went away. Race looked beautiful and ethereal, like he’d just stepped out of a fairy tale. He wore a shimmering outfit that seemed to change colors as he moved. His face was painted in dozens of glittering hues, his cheekbones accentuated with gleaming gold. As Race leaped gracefully through the air, Spot could see the faintest trace of gossamer fairy wings on his back. Spot was enthralled, enchanted. Race was so stunning, so talented, and _all his_.

Spot went to the stage door immediately after the performance. It took about ten minutes for Race to emerge from the theater, and another ten to work his way through the throng of people wanting his autograph. Finally, he reached Spot. He’d taken off his makeup, but there were still shimmers of gold on his cheekbones. Spot thought he looked angelic.

“Hey, _piccolo_ ,” he said, grinning. “Ya like the show?” Spot pulled him in by his collar and kissed him hard.

“God, I _loved_ it,” he replied breathlessly. “You’s so gorgeous an’ so talented, an’ ya looked so _good_ up there, _corridore_. I love ya so much.” Race laughed and kissed Spot.

“I’m takin’ ya on a date,” he announced.

“What, now?” Spot asked. Race nodded. “Racer, it’s ten thirty,” Spot said.

“I know a real good place that’s open late,” Race said. My friend Mush runs it. It’s a dessert bar. Makes the best milkshakes in Manhattan. C’mon.” He grabbed Spot’s hand, dragged him to his car, and drove to a building that looked like a ‘50s-style diner.

“Hey, Mush!” He called, sitting down at a booth with Spot. A man around Race and Spot’s age came over, grinning. He was huge, tall and broad-shouldered, with tan skin, golden-brown eyes, and curly black hair. He and Race hugged.

“Race!” He said. “It’s been a while! How’re you? How’re performances goin’? Who’s this?” Race laughed.

“I’m good!” He said. “We just finished our first performance, an’ it went great! An’ this’s my boyfriend, Spot. Spot, this’s my friend Mush.”

“Nice ta meet ya, Spot!” Mush said, shaking Spot’s hand.

“Nice ta meet you too,” Spot replied. They ordered their milkshakes, mint chip oreo for Race and chocolate peanut butter pretzel for Spot. Mush sat with them, chatting happily as they drank.

They got back to Race’s apartment around midnight. Spot kissed Race goodnight and went to head for the subway to get back home, but Race was still holding his hand.

“Racer, babe, ya gotta let go,” Spot murmured. “I gotta get home.”

“Stay with me tonight?” Race pleaded. “It’s real late, an’ the subway’s gonna be all full a weirdos, an’ I don’t want anythin’ ta happen ta you. Please, Spottie?” Spot was about to refuse, to say that he really should be getting home, but Race pouted at him. The gold shimmers on his cheeks made his eyes look bigger and bluer, and he looked so soft and sleepy that Spot just couldn’t say no to him.

“Alright, _corridore_ ,” he said. “I’ll stay.” They got ready for bed and curled up together, Spot’s arms wrapped around Race’s waist.

“ _Ti amo, piccolo_ ,” Race mumbled.

“ _Ti amo, corridore_ ,” Spot replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian Translations:  
> Ti amo: I love you
> 
> As always, let me know in the comments if you want another part!


	4. Pretending to be Straight is Exhausting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race goes to see Spot in Wicked, and they relax together

Race could barely keep from bouncing in his seat as he sat in the Nederlander, waiting for the matinee of Spot’s show to start. He loved _Wicked._ He had seen the show at least ten times already, and he had all the songs memorized. He sent a text to Spot before turning his phone off.

_To: Spottie: Break a leg, handsome! You’re gonna do great! I love you!_

Race gazed at the map of Oz currently obscuring the stage, at the giant clockwork dragon framing the proscenium, at the Emerald City shining in the center of the map like a beacon. The loud, dramatic overture started, moving seamlessly into “No One Mourns the Wicked.” Race mouthed along with the words, grinning. He swooned as Spot made his entrance, practically melting as his boyfriend’s rich, smooth tenor voice washed over him. Spot looked so handsome, his green and gold Captain of the Guard uniform making his toned muscles stand out, his hair done so perfectly, the slightest bit of eyeliner making his dark eyes pop. Race was in love, and he had it _bad_.

After the show, Race went down to the stage door, watching as Spot signed Playbill after Playbill.

“Sign mine, please, Mr. Conlon?” He asked. Spot looked up at him, grinning. He took Race’s Playbill, uncapping his Sharpie.

“Of course,” he said. “Who do I make it out to?”

“Your boyfriend, if ya don’t mind,” Race replied.

“You got it!” Spot said. _To my beautiful boyfriend. I love you! ~Spot_ , he wrote. He handed the Playbill back to Race, who pulled him in for a kiss.

“You were amazin’, _piccolo_ ,” he said. “You looked so _hot_ in that guard uniform.” Spot looked playfully offended.

“ _Corridore_ , how could you?!” He gasped. “I always look hot!” Race laughed, kissing his boyfriend again.

“Of course ya do,” he said.

“Let’s go back ta my place,” Spot suggested. “We can get takeout from zia Marianna an’ watch movies an’ relax. Pretendin’ ta be straight is _exhaustin’._ ” Race smiled.

“Sounds like a plan, pretty boy,” he said. They got into Spot’s car, and Spot pulled a menu for zia Marianna’s out of the glove box and handed it to Race.

“Here, choose what ya want, an’ I’ll call it in,” he said. Race browsed the menu.

“I’ll have the fettuccine alfredo again,” he decided. Spot nodded and called in the order, speaking in rapid-fire Italian. They drove to Spot’s apartment, stopping to pick up their food from Zia Marianna, and curled up together on Spot’s couch.

“Whaddya wanna watch, Racer?” Spot asked, kissing the top of Race’s head.

“Disney!” Race replied.

“Wanna be more specific?” Spot asked, chuckling. Race thought about it for a bit, his head tilted adorably to the side.

“ _Mulan_ ,” he said finally.

“Good choice,” Spot said, putting the movie into his DVD player. They watched and ate, transitioning to _Moana_ once _Mulan_ had finished, then _Aladdin_ , then _Lion King_. Spot felt Race starting to drift off in his lap. He kissed Race’s neck, jolting the other boy awake with a sleepy moan.

“Spot, m’tryin’ ta sleep,” he whined.

“Stay awake ‘til this one’s over, okay?” Spot cooed, now kissing down Race’s neck to his collarbone. “Then we’ll go ta bed,”

“Spottie,” Race mewled as Spot nipped and sucked at his soft skin. “Spottie, I’ve got performances!”

“An’ this ain’t gonna show under your costume,” Spot replied. “Fuck, Racer!” He moaned as Race turned the tables, now sucking a bruise onto Spot’s collarbone. “Alright, now we’s even,” he said. “You proud a yourself?”

“Yes,” Race hummed, laying his head back on Spot’s chest. The movie ended, and Spot carried a very sleepy Race to his bed, letting Race hold onto him like a koala. He looked down at his sleeping boyfriend, smiling. In that moment, he felt like he had all that he needed right there in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know if you want to see another part, and vote on a couples costume for Race and Spot!  
> A) Race is Puck, Spot is Oberon (Midsummer)  
> B) Race is Glinda, Spot is Elphaba (Wicked, genderbent)  
> C) Race is Cinderella (genderbent), Spot is Prince Charming  
> D) other (tell me!)


	5. Planning a Costume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race is a huge nerd who cosplays and he’s done sexy versions of male superheroes so he can totally rock high heels don’t @ me

“Racer, do we _have_ ta do a couple’s costume?” Spot asked. He and Race were in Spot’s apartment, cuddling on the couch, and Race had been arguing adamantly for the past half-hour that they should do a couple’s costume for Halloween that year.

“We don’t _have_ ta do one, but please can we?” Race begged, pouting up at Spot.

“ _Corridore,_ that ain’t fair!” Spot protested. “You know I can’t say no ta you when you’s poutin’ at me like that!”

“So we’s doin’ the couple’s costume?” Race asked happily. Spot sighed.

“Yeah, we’s doin’ the couple’s costume,” he replied.

“Great!” Race chirped. “So what do we wanna do?”

“Racer, it ain’t even october yet!” Spot protested.

“Yeah, but I need time ta make the costumes,” Race said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wait, _make_ the costumes?” Spot asked. “I thought we’d be buyin’ em!” Race snorted.

“Fuck no!” he said. “There’s no way in hell I’s spendin’ a ton a money on an overpriced piece a shit costume when I can make a better one myself.”

“You can sew?” Spot asked. Race nodded.

“I like makin’ my own costumes,” he said. “Have since elementary school. I make ‘em for Halloween, for cons, sometimes even for dancin’.” he thought for a moment. “Maybe we could be Puck an’ Oberon,” he suggested. “From _Midsummer_. I’d be Puck, you’d be Oberon. You could definitely pull of the “dark, mysterious fairy king” look, especially once I’m done with ya.”

“That’s kinda obscure though,” Spot said. “We’d spend the whole night explainin’ who we are.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” Race said. “How ‘bout Glinda an’ Elphaba, then?”

“I ain’t wearin’ a dress,” Spot said.

“It’d be genderbent, ya wuss,” Race replied, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well I ain’t lettin’ ya paint me green, neither,” Spot said.

“Coward,” Race huffed.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Spot said, leaning down to kiss him. Race was silent for a while, and Spot could practically see the gears turning in his head. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers.

“I got it!” He said excitedly. “Danny an’ Sandy! From _Grease_!” Spot raised an eyebrow, then pulled out his phone and quickly typed something into it. “Are you lookin’ up a picture?” Race asked.

“Hey, I ain’t seen that movie in years!” Spot protested. “Lay off!” He looked at the picture he’d pulled up, then at the smiling boy leaning against his chest. “Well, I’d sure love ta see ya in those leather pants, but can ya handle the heels?” He said.

“‘Course I can handle the heels,” Race scoffed. “I’ve worn higher heels than that before. I could _sprint_ in those things. Don’t doubt my power, _piccolo_.” Spot smiled, kissing Race again.

“Alright, Racer,” he said. “Let’s be Danny an’ Sandy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I know you guys want another part but keep commenting with your thoughts and feelings anyway bc I’m a dramatic little shit who craves validation 😊😊😊


	6. Honey what you waitin’ for? Welcome to the fabric store!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi I have no upload schedule and I try to be funny.

Spot would later swear up and down that there was nothing in the world cuter than Racetrack Higgins in a fabric store. Spot new absolutely fuck all about fabric. He didn’t know the difference between cotton and linen, and he wouldn’t be able to recognize a knit if one bit him in the ass. And yet here he was, following his adorable boyfriend around a JoAnn Fabrics, watching as Race pulled out bolt after bolt of seemingly identical black fabric, his brow creased in that cute little way it did whenever he was concentrating.

“A- _ha_!” Race muttered, grabbing a bolt of fabric from the shelf. “There ya are, _bastardo_. Spottie, baby, can ya hold this for me please?”

“Of course, _corridore_ ,” Spot said, taking the fabric from Race and tucking it under his arm. “I’m honored ta serve as your pack mule.” Race giggled.

“Thanks, _piccolo_ ,” he said, kissing the tip of Spot’s nose.

“Hey, don’t ya need patterns for this stuff?” Spot asked as Race led him out of the knits aisle.

“Got ‘em already,” Race said absentmindedly, examining a bolt of flannel that was on sale. “The pants’re just basic leggings, an’ I can modify the bodice of a princess dress I did a couple years ago for the top.”

“Alright, Racer,” Spot said. “M’sure ya know what you’s doin’.”

“I need four-way stretch vinyl,” Race mumbled, entering the pleather aisle. He glanced at Spot, grinning at the look of utter bewilderment on his boyfriend’s face. “S’alright, Spottie,” he said. “Ya don’t gotta help. Just stand there an’ look pretty.”

“Okay, thank god,” Spot said. “I wouldn’t a been any help. Wouldn’t know four-way stretch whatever if it bit me in the ass.”

“Four-way stretch _vinyl_ ,” Race corrected, crouching as he rifled through the shelves full of pleather, tugging on each one to see how far it stretched. “It looks like leather, but it ain’t. An’ it stretches.”

“Wow, I never woulda guessed,” Spot teased. Race swatted at his leg.

“Ass,” he huffed.

“You love me,” Spot said, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Race said, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna make ya carry all the fabric, just for that.

“You go right ahead an’ do that, Racer,” Spot said. Race handed him another bolt of fabric. They made their way to the cutting counter, and Race picked up the flannel he’d been eyeing earlier as they went. Race told the lady at the counter how much fabric they needed, and she cut it for him, handing the bundle of cloth to Race, who handed it to Spot.

“Thanks for doin’ this with me,” Race said as they got in the car. “My ex’d never come. He always said this was useless an’ borin’ an’ a waste a time.”

“Well your ex was an idiot,” Spot replied. “There’s nothin’ cuter than seein’ ya so happy an’ in your element.” Race blushed.

“Ya really think so?” He asked.

“Yeah, Racer,” Spot said, tilting Race’s head up so he could kiss the blond. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave your comments below and tell me your ideas for a Halloween costume for Buttons and Elmer!


	7. Thrift shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just ate a bunch of starbursts and now I simultaneously have too much energy and not enough energy this was a bad idea

Spot sat on Race’s couch, Race’s sewing machine whirring in the background as he worked on his costume. Spot waited until the noise stopped before going up behind his boyfriend, kissing up and down Race’s neck.

“Spot!” Race gasped. Spot smirked.

“How ‘bout ya take a break, pretty boy?” He purred, nipping at a spot under Race’s ear, coaxing a moan from the blond.

“Later, _piccolo_ ,” Race groaned. “Fuck, Spot! We’ll do that later, I promise! Let’s go thrift shoppin’, get ya a leather jacket.”

“Okay, fine,” Spot said, reluctantly abandoning his assault on Race’s neck. “But I’s holdin’ ya ta that “later.”

“Okay, Spottie,” Race said, planting a kiss on Spot’s lips, one that Spot happily returned. They got into Race’s car, and drove around the city, stopping at every thrift shop they came across and striking out at every one. They walked into a dusty, dimly lit, hole-in-the-wall-type shop, making small talk with the old man who owned it as they browsed the racks of clothing.

“Hey Racer?” Spot asked. “This good?” Race turned around and gasped.

“Holy _shit_ , Spot,” he said breathlessly. Spot was wearing a black leather jacket that fit him _perfectly_ , hugging him in all the right places, accentuating his gorgeous, toned muscles.

“That bad, huh?” Spot asked self-consciously, fiddling with the jacket’s collar.

“No!” Race said. “No, God, Spot, that’s _perfect_. _God_ , you look so hot in that jacket. C’mere.” He tugged Spot over to the mirror that hung in the shop, kissing his boyfriend as he went. “See?” Race asked as Spot examined his reflection. “Perfect. Stunnin’. _Beautiful._ ” He punctuated every word with a kiss.

“Aw, Racer, you’s makin’ me blush,” Spot said, grinning.

“We’s gettin’ the jacket,” Race said firmly.

“Yep,” Spot agreed. He went up to the counter to pay for the jacket while Race continued browsing. “Ready ta go?” He asked, finding Race in the hat aisle. Race turned and put something on Spot’s head. He wore a brown newsboy cap perched atop his blond curls.

“These’re real cheap an’ real well-made an’ real neat,” he said happily. “I’m gettin’ one. You want one too?” Spot grinned.

“Why the hell not,” he said. Race took the grey cap off Spot’s head and took both up to the counter to pay for them. As soon as they got back to Race’s apartment, their purchases were tossed onto the couch and Spot pinned Race against the wall, kissing him hungrily.

“ _Spot_ ,” Race mewled, breathy little moans escaping him as Spot kissed him without pause.

“I believe there was a promise a “later,” Spot said, pulling Race into the bedroom.

“Oh God, _yes_!” Race whined. “ _Spottie_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re doing a question of the day now! So question of the day number one: 92sies or stage version? I have seen both and I like both but I think the stage version is better!


	8. Party

“Racer, c’mon!” Spot called, checking his watch. “We’s gonna be late!”

“Yeah, an’ so’s everyone else!” Race replied, his voice muffled by his bedroom door. “Ya can’t rush perfection, _piccolo_.” five minutes later, the door opened and Spot’s jaw dropped. There was Race, clad in skintight leather pants, a form-fitting black top that bared his creamy shoulders, and red heels that gave him at least three extra inches of height. His face was contoured, his eyebrows were done perfectly, and his lips were red. There was light blue eyeshadow on his eyelids and a hit of gold shimmer on his cheeks.

“Wow,” Spot said finally. “That’s just--fuck, _corridore_ , that’s sexy. That ain’t fair, Racer. Should be illegal ta do that to a guy.” Race smirked.

“Have you taken a look at yourself recently?” he asked. “You’s smokin’ hot in that jacket. C’mere an’ lemme do your hair.” he tugged Spot into his room, grabbing a jar of hair gel and slicking back his boyfriend’s untidy black hair. “There we go,” he said, kissing Spot. “Now ya look like a ‘50s rebel. Let’s go.” Spot drove to Buttons and Elmer’s apartment, with Race giving him directions from the passenger seat.

“Hey, guys!” Elmer said, answering the door, Buttons right behind him. “You two look great!

“Danny an’ Sandy, right?” Buttons added. “From _Grease_?”

“Yeah!” Race replied. “You two look amazing too!” Buttons and Elmer were dressed as Mary Poppins and Bert, and both were grinning proudly. They both hugged Race and Spot, and stepped back to let their friends into the apartment. Jack wolf-whistled as Race walked in, earning him a smack on the shoulder from Davey. Jack and Davey were dressed as Gale and Katniss, from _The Hunger Games,_ and Spot got the impression that the costume had been Jack’s idea. In addition to Jack and Davey, Sarah, Katherine, Romeo, Sniper, Finch, and Albert were there. Sarah and Katherine were both Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_ , with Sarah as the classic animated version and Katherine as the live action version. Romeo and Sniper were Romeo and Juliet from the 1996 movie, but Romeo was dressed in Juliet’s outfit and Sniper was dressed in Romeo’s, which made Race laugh.

“Hey, it’s that dude from the bar!” Albert, who was dressed as Peter Pan, said. Finch, who was dressed as Wendy, stood next to him. “How long’ve you two been together?” Race shrugged.

“Couple months,” he replied.

“An’ ya didn’t tell me?” Albert asked, offended. “I got you two together!”

“No, _I_ got us together,” Race retorted. “You just drunkenly nagged me ‘til I talked ta him. You don’t get credit for this.”

“Ass,” Albert huffed.

“Sorry, darlin’,” Race replied, smirking. The doorbell rang, and Elmer and Buttons went to answer it. Crutchie and Specs, dressed as Cinderella and Harry Potter, came in.

“Race!” Crutchie exclaimed, limping forward to hug Race. “It’s been ages!”

“Yeah!” Race replied, returning Crutchie’s hug with enthusiasm.

“An’ this must be Spot!” Crutchie said, moving to hug the shorter boy. “Race’s told me so much about ya! It’s great ta finally meet you!”

“Same ta you!” Spot replied. Mush came next, a giant tub of ice cream tucked under each arm. His boyfriend, Blink, followed, carrying a box of homemade ice cream toppings. They were both dressed as pirates, and Blink had even put on a special eye patch with a gold skull and crossbones on it. Mush set the ice cream down in buckets of ice that Elmer and Buttons had set out. Everyone got ice cream and toppings and settled down in Buttons and Elmer’s living room to watch movies. They started with the 1984 _Ghostbusters_ movie, then moved to the 2016 remake, then _Beetlejuice_ , then _A Nightmare Before Christmas_ , then _Coraline_ . As the credits rolled on _Coraline_ , Race noticed that Spot had fallen asleep on his chest. Smiling, he picked his boyfriend up, muttering his goodbyes to his friends as he headed out to his car. He gently buckled Spot into the passenger seat before kicking off his heels and driving home. He got out of his costume, took off his makeup, and changed into his pajamas before helping his very sleepy Brooklyn boyfriend do the same.

“I love ya, Spot,” he murmured before falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question of the day: Who's your favorite character from Newsies? If you can't choose a favorite, give me your top 3. My favorite character is Spot! I relate to him on a personal level because I, too, am short, combative, and dramatic.


	9. Christmas

“What’re ya doin’ for Christmas, Spottie?” Race asked as he and Spot walked through Central Park, holding hands. Snow fell softly around them, settling on their hair and clothes and eyelashes and giving the whole scene a magical feel. Spot shrugged.

“Dunno,” he replied. “Why?”

“Well, I thought maybe you’d like ta spend Christmas with me an’ my family,” Race suggested, a little shyly. There’s this lady named Miss Medda Larkin, she owns a little theater here in Manhattan, an’ she’s kinda unofficially adopted me an’ a bunch a my friends. We go over ta the theater every year for Christmas an’ exchange presents an’ eat dinner, an’ it’s loud an’ crazy an’ awesome, an’ I’d like you ta experience it with me.”

“I’d love to, Racer,” Spot said, smiling. “But you’ll need ta help me with the gifts.” Race grinned, gently kissing Spot’s cheek.

“Of course, _piccolo_ ,” he said.

 

“Hey. _Hey_. Spot. Look at me.” Race and Spot sat in Race’s car outside Miss Medda’s theater. Race held both of Spot’s hands, which were shaking. “Spot, they’s gonna love ya,” Race said for about the millionth time. “You’s sweet, you’s talented, you’s smart, you’s funny, you’s charmin’, you’s the whole package. Besides, you already met a bunch a them at Buttons an’ Elmer’s Halloween party, an’ they loved you. Everything’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Promise?” Spot asked nervously.

“Promise,” Race replied, planting a soft kiss on Spot’s lips. They grabbed the IKEA bag they’d full of presents that they’d brought, and walked into the theater.

“ _Race!_ ” Two female voices yelled. Two girls came sprinting towards Race and Spot, almost knocking Race over with particularly enthusiastic hugs. They were both small and slim, and both were younger than Race. One had pale skin and brown hair that was shaved on the sides and longer on top, shot through with streaks of pink, purple, and blue. The other was Asian, with an undercut that was currently pulled up into a small bun. She wore large, chunky combat boots. Race laughed as he hugged them both.

“Hey, kiddos!” He said.

“Who’s this?” the brown-haired girl asked, looking at Spot.

“This’s my boyfriend, Spot Conlon,” Race said. “Spot, this’s my little sister Smalls an’ her girlfriend boots. They’s the babies.”

“We ain’t babies ya asshole!” Boots protested. “We’s eighteen! We’s adults now!”

“You’s the babies a the group,” Race retorted.

“How long’ve you been datin’ Fiyero?” Smalls demanded.

“Few months,” Race replied.

“An’ ya didn’t tell me?” Smalls whined.

“Ya didn’t _ask_ , ya walnut,” Race said, flicking her forehead. “She’s a theater kid,” he explained to Spot.

“Ain’t we all,” Spot replied, smiling. They followed Smalls and Boots into the theater. There was a large tree, lit and decorated, onstage, presents piled up underneath. Many of Race’s friends were already there, laughing, talking, and play-fighting. Race led Spot over to a black woman sitting away from the chaos. She wore a simple but beautifully embroidered dress, and her dreadlocks were swirled into an intricate bun atop her head.

“Hi, Miss Medda,” Race said. “Merry Christmas!”

“Race, darlin, I was wonderin’ where you were!” Miss Medda said, hugging Race. “An’ this must be Spot.” She hugged Spot as well.

“Yes, ma’am,” Spot said.

“Please call me Miss Medda,” Miss Medda said. “All the rest a these hooligans do. You were amazin’ in _Wicked_ , by the way.”

“Oh! Thank you!” Spot said, caught off guard. Miss Medda smiled.

“I took Smalls ta go see it,” she explained. “She _loved_ it.”

“Yeah, I already got an earful for not tellin’ her I was datin’ Fiyero,” Race grumbled. “Hey Al, ya dumbass!” he tugged off his shoe and hurled it with impressive speed and accuracy across the room, where it smacked Albert solidly in the back of the head. Albert whirled around.

“Race, ya fuckin’ asshole!” he yelled.

“C’mon, Spottie, let’s go do somethin’ dumb,” Race said happily, taking Spot’s hand and leading him towards Al and Finch.

Later, they all gathered onstage to open presents. Among other things, Spot had gotten a signed _Wicked_ Playbill for Smalls, a ‘50s inspired milkshake cookbook for Mush, and a Bob Ross T-shirt for Jack. He handed Race an envelope.

“Merry Christmas, Racer,” He said. “The gift’s at my apartment, but it was too big ta bring here, so I had ta get creative.” Race tore open the envelope, pulling out a photo of a sewing machine.

“Is this…” he asked.

“Yeah,” Spot replied. “This’s the one you’ve been droolin’ over. The one the cosplay lady likes.”

“Oh, _lucky_!” Buttons said from where he sat on Elmer’s lap.

“Don’t worry, Buttons, I’ll share,” Race assured him. He handed Spot a little box. Spot opened it, revealing a small brass key on a leather cord.

“A key ta your apartment?” Spot asked. Race nodded. Spot hugged him tight. Behind them, Jack snorted.

“Seriously, Race?” he asked. “That’s _so_ cliche.”

“Shut up!” Race retorted. “You can’t talk! You gave the same thing ta Davey for your all’s first Christmas!”

As everyone ate dinner, yelling and laughing across the large table that had been set up in the dressing room, Race reached over and intertwined his fingers with Spot’s. Spot smiled. For the first time since his parents had died, he felt like he had a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question of the day: what do you want to see next?


	10. Why Do You Have Four Gallons of Hair Gel?

“Spot!” Race yelled.

“Race!” Spot yelled at the same time. It was after New Years, and Spot and Race were moving into their new apartment. They had tried living together in Race’s tiny studio apartment for a couple weeks, but they had both agreed that there just wasn’t enough room for the both of them. After a week or two of searching, they’d found a nice place near Broadway, convenient to both of their jobs. The owner of the complex was himself a retired actor, so he was very sympathetic to them, and the apartment was incredibly affordable. The apartment was amazing. It was large and spacious, with huge one-way windows looking out over the city. There was a music room with a piano, and a practice room lined with mirrors. It was _perfect_. Currently, Race stood in the bathroom, holding a box with “bathroom shit” scrawled across it in Spot’s large handwriting. He stepped out in the hallway, where Spot was standing, holding a shoebox that belonged to Race.

“You first,” Spot said.

“Why the _fuck_ do you have _four gallons_ a hair gel in here?!” Race demanded.

“I do not have _four gallons_!” Spot argued.

“Pretty close ta it!” Race said. “ _Why_?!”

“They were on sale and I like that brand!” Spot said. “My turn. Why do ya have a bunch a very small, real worn-out dance shoes?”

“Sentimental value,” Race replied. “Right there in that box is every ballet shoe I’ve worn since I was five.”

“Why’re there so _many_?” Spot asked.

“Because ballet shoes ain’t made to last,” Race explained. “Ya need a new pair, like, every performance.”

“That’s dumb,” Spot said.

“I’m not sayin’ it ain’t,” Race said. “That’s just how it is. Put those in the closet, please.”

“Gotcha,” Spot said, kissing Race. “Put the gel in the cupboard, please.”

“I’m not puttin’ all a these in the cupboard,” Race said. “Two of ‘em are goin’ in the cupboard. The rest’re goin’ under the sink.”

“Fine,” Spot said.

“Love you,” Race said.

“Love you too,” Spot replied. Race spent another hour unpacking and organizing until a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist.

“M’bored,” Spot said, resting his chin on Race’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” Race replied. “Is the bedroom ready for us ta sleep in?” Spot nodded.

“M’bored,” he repeated.

“Whaddya wanna do, then, baby?” Race asked.

“Sit on the couch in our boxers an’ eat pizza an’ do a Marvel movies marathon?” Spot suggested.

“That sounds like a plan,” Race replied.

“I’ll order,” Spot said, already taking off his shirt. “We want the meat lover’s, right?”

“Yes,” Race confirmed. “Extra large. An’ two things a cheesy bread. I wanna drown in melted cheese.”

“That sounds _incredibly_ unappetizin’,” Spot said. “But point taken.” he kissed Race and wandered into the living room, punching the number for the pizza place into his phone. Race finished organizing the bathroom and took off his shirt and pants, tossing them in the hamper before going over to the couch and curling into Spot’s side. Spot wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

“What’re we startin’ with?” Spot asked. “ _First Avenger_ or _Iron Man_?”

“ _First Avenger_ ,” Race replied.

“You got it, _corridore_ ,” Spot said, selecting it on the screen. They relaxed and watched the action unfolding on the screen, pausing only to get their food, get drinks, and go to the bathroom. Race sighed happily, his head on Spot's chest. He loved his boyfriend, he loved this apartment, and he loved his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question of the day is give me prompts for what should happen next!  
> Actual question of the day is what's your favorite Newsies song? Mine has got to be Brooklyn's Here. Spot Conlon WENT OFF and it fucking slaps!


	11. Happy Valentine’s Day, Asshole

Race woke up on Valentine’s Day to a cold, empty bed. He got dressed and went to the kitchen, where there were remnants of a hurried breakfast still scattered around the table and counters. Race made himself toast and coffee, and went to find Spot. He found his boyfriend in their “office,” focused intently on a document on his computer. Race draped himself over Spot’s shoulders.

“Hey Racer,” Spot mumbled distractedly. He didn’t look away from his computer screen, and he barely reacted when Race kissed him. “Hey, look, I’m real busy, Tony,” he said, sounding  _ vaguely _ apologetic. “I gotta get this done.”

“Oh,” Race said, getting off of Spot and trying his best not to sound disappointed. “But you’ll be free this evening, right?”

“Uh huh, sure,” Spot mumbled. “See ya, Racer.”

 

That evening, Race got dressed in a nice button down and slacks. He took a deep breath and walked back into the office. 

“Spot, are you ready ta go?” He asked.

“No, I still gotta work,” Spot said, still not looking up from his screen. Tears stung Race’s eyes. 

“Spot,  _ look at me _ !” He snapped. “Fuckin’  _ look at me _ !” Spot finally looked up at Race. “Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, asshole,” Race said. He turned on his heels and ran out of the room before Spot could see him cry.

 

Spot stared after Race.  _ Was it really Valentine’s Day? _ He looked at his phone. Sure enough, the date said “February 14.” 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Spot said. He needed to fix this, and he needed to do it  _ fast. _ So he did the only thing he could think to do: he called his sister.

“Whaddya want, Spottie?” Spot’s sister, Thalia, said as she answered the phone. 

“I fucked up, T,” Spot said.

“‘Course ya did,” Thalia sighed. “Why else’d ya be callin’ me at date time on Valentine’s Day? You  _ do  _ know that I’m tryin’ ta enjoy a nice dinner out with my girlfriend, right?”

“Who is it?” Spot could hear Thalia’s girlfriend, Elizabeth, also known as Armadillo or Dil, ask in the background.

“My dumbass brother,” Thalia told her. “He fucked somethin’ up.”

“Oh,” Dil said. “Hi, dumbass brother who fucked somethin’ up!”

“Hey,” Spot replied. “Sorry fa interruptin’ ya date, but I need ya help. I was too busy workin’ on updatin’ my dumbass resumé an’ I forgot it was Valentine’s Day today. I thought it was tomorrow. So I ain’t been payin’ any attention ta Race all day because I had plans ta spoil ‘im fa tomorrow, but now he’s real upset an’ I dunno what ta do.”

“Did he block ya number?” Thalia asked.

“I don’t think so,” Spot replied. 

“Then  _ text him _ , dumbass, an’ find out where he is, an’ go apologize, dumbass!” Thalia said. “An’ don’t bother me anymore ‘less you’s dyin’. I’m tryin’ ta enjoy my date with my girlfriend.”

“Fine,” Spot replied, rolling his eyes. Thalia hung up and Spot texted Race.

_ To: Corridore: Where are you? _

_ From: Corridore: nunya _

_ To: Corridore: Race please. I’m worried about you, and just wanna apologize. Where are you? _

_ From: Corridore: Somewhere Over the Rainbow. _

Spot would’ve been frustrated by Race’s vague answer if he hadn’t known that Somewhere Over the Rainbow was the gay bar he and Race had met at. He got dressed in a button-down and slacks and headed out. He stopped at a couple stores along the way, buying a box of chocolates and a golden locket engraved with the image of a needle and thread. In the locket, he put a picture that he and Race had taken on Halloween, of them kissing as Danny and Sandy. Finally, he made his way to the bar. Race sat at the end of the bar counter, hunched over his drink.

“Race,” Spot said softly.

“Whaddya want?” Race snapped, turning to glare at Spot. His eyes were red and puffy, both from drinking and from crying. 

“Racer, m’sorry,” Spot said. “I’m really,  _ really  _ sorry. I thought Valentine’s Day was tomorrow, an’ I had a really nice elaborate plan. I thought I had today ta work on my dumbass resumé. But y’know what I realized?”

“What?” Race asked.

“It ain’t just Valentine’s Day, it’s our six-month anniversary too,” Spot said. “An’ ain’t it funny that we’s in the same bar we met in?” 

“Yeah, sure, whateva,” Race huffed, obviously still upset.

“Can I sit here next ta you?” Spot asked. “Please?”

“Yeah, whateva makes ya happy, I guess,” Race said. Spot sat down next to Race and slid the chocolates and the box containing the locket over to him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he said.

“Don’t “baby” me,” race snapped. “You’ve lost ya pet name privileges. An’ I don’t want ya “shit I fucked up” gifts.” He shoved the boxes back towards Spot.

“Race, please,” Spot begged. “These ain’t “shit I fucked up” presents, this one’s a Valentine’s Day present,” he held up the chocolates. “An’ this one’s an anniversary present.” He held up the box with the locket. 

“Fine,” Race growled. He snatched the locket box from Spot. “I’ll open ya dumbass presents, but after that,  _ leave me alone. _ ”

“Deal,” Spot said. Race opened the chocolates first.

“Oh wow, chocolate,” he said, his voice sarcastic. “What a shocker.” 

“They’s ya favorites,” Spot said. “Peppermint chews an’ sea salt caramels an’ pecan praline an’ Oreo creme truffles from Borrelli’s.” Race just nodded, opening the box containing the locket a little more aggressively than was necessary. Spot watched as he lifted out the locket on its golden chain. Race opened the locket and stared at the picture inside, at the two of them kissing in their costumes, staring at each other with love-filled gazes. 

“Spot, this’s…” he began.

“I know, I know,” Spot sighed. “It’s dumb, an’ it ain’t enough. But I’d like ta still have the date I planned fa tomorrow, if ya wanna be ‘round me. I’ll give ya some space fa now.” He got up, but Race grabbed his arm. When Spot looked at Race, he saw that his eyes were shining with tears. 

“Spot, this’s  _ perfect _ ,” he said. 

“You… you don’t hate it?” Spot asked, taken aback. 

“I love it, Spottie,” Race said. “An’ I love  _ you _ . Can I kiss ya?”

“‘Course,” Spot said, leaning in for a kiss. Race hummed happily. “I’m really really sorry, Racer,” Spot said as they broke apart. “I shoulda looked at the date. Shoulda known Valentine’s Day was today.”

“It’s okay now, Spottie,” Race replied. “I forgive ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you enjoyed and give me prompts for what you want to see next!! Question of the day: what’s your Newsie name and what’s the story behind it? Mine is Freckles bc Smalls is already taken, and I have a lot of freckles


	12. Luna

“Spottie,” Race said one day, as the two were cuddling on the couch.

“Racer,” Spot replied, gently stroking Race’s hip.

“I wanna dog,” Race announced. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Spot asked.

“I wanna dog,  _ piccolo _ ,” Race repeated. “Did I stutter?”

“What brought this on, baby?” Spot asked. 

“Dogs are cute, an’ I want one,” Race said. 

“What kinda dog would ya want?” Spot asked.

“A husky!” Race said.

“You know those have a lotta energy, right?” Spot said.

“Uh-huh,” Race said. “An’ so do I. Please Spottie? The apartment allows dogs, an’ we got the money. You don’t gotta excuse.” Spot sighed.

“I’ll think about it,  _ corridore _ ,” he said.

 

A week or two later, Spot loaded Race into the car. As soon as Race had said he wanted a dog, Spot had started doing research. He’d found a reputable breeder only about an hour and a half away from New York City who had a litter that was ready to find homes, and now he was bringing Race up.

“Spottie, where’re we goin’?” Race asked.

“You’ll see,” Spot replied. Race pouted and whined.

“Spottieeeeeee,” he said. 

“Nope,” Spot said. “It’s a surprise.”

“Asshole,” Race huffed.

“Love you,” Spot said, kissing the tip of Race’s nose. He turned on his Come From Away playlist, and Race was immediately occupied with belting out the songs. After an hour and a half of driving, Spot pulled into the driveway of the breeder’s house. The breeder was there waiting for them. She brought them around to a corral filled with puppies, all running around and playfighting. Race’s face lit up.

“Am I allowed ta go in there?” He asked.

“Yep!” The breeder said. “They’re all about eight months old, purebred huskies, and they’re already fixed and potty trained.” Race walked into the corral and plopped himself down on the ground. Immediately, a little silver and white puppy ran up to him, put its paws on his shoulders, and started licking his face. Race laughed. 

“Spottie, look!” He said. “This one likes me!”

“Is that one spoken for yet?” Spot asked.

“Nope,” the breeder replied. “No one’s got a claim on her.” Spot also went into the corral and sat next to his boyfriend. The puppy went over to him, sniffed his hand, and then started licking his face as well.

“You want this one?” Spot asked. Race looked up at him, eyes shining.

“Wait, we’s here to  _ get _ a dog?” He asked.

“Well you wanted one, didn’t ya?” Spot asked, smiling. Race flung his arms around Spot. 

“Oh my god, I love you!” He cried. “Yes, I want this one!” 

“Then she’s ours,” Spot said. “We’d like this one, please. Does she have a name?”

“Not yet,” the breeder said. 

“Luna,” Race said decisively. “That’s her name. Luna.” The pair filled out the paperwork for Luna, and the breeder gave them a leash, a collar, and a toy for her as well. Throughout the process, Race was cradling her like a baby, gently petting her and cooing softly. Spot smiled. They got back in the car with her and drove home, stopping at the pet store to get food and water bowls, food, a bed, tags, and a crate. 

“Welcome to your new home!” Race said as he brought Luna into their apartment. Luna barked excitedly. Race and Spot set up the bed and the food and water bowls, then settled down on the couch to watch a movie. Luna jumped up and settled down on Race’s lap, curling up into a little ball. Spot smiled and pecked Race’s lips. 

“I love you, Racer,” he said.

“I love you too, Spottie,” Race replied happily. “Thank you fa lettin’ me get a dog.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like another part to this, let me know in the comments!


End file.
